Names
by kittykatloren
Summary: This is a series featuring multiple characters from all of TP's series, not just Song of the Lioness, but that's just how it's classified. Theme for each oneshot is "Names". CHAPTER XIII: Dove.
1. I: Daine Sarrasri

**A/N:** This is short two-part story (so far!). Obviously, the theme is names, because in the Immortals series, that's a huge thing in the lives of our favorite two characters. (If you know another character you'd like to read a little fic about, with some sort of name-related theme, let me know, and perhaps this will be longer than two parts.)

The first chapter is Daine, the next, Arram/Numair. Both take place before they know each other (aka before Wild Magic). Their pasts are almost as interesting as their relationship!

Enjoy and please leave a review while I work on the Numair chapter!

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize belongs to Tamora Pierce, not me.

* * *

"Don't you stray far, Daine," Sarra said sternly. "I won't be long. I've just got to get your grandda some drink from the store, and little ones aren't allowed in. Stay right here, do you hear me? Don't leave Mammoth, neither."

"Yes, ma."

Little Daine sat patiently beside the bush for quite some time, patting Mammoth's fluffy head absently as she watched all the creatures that scurried across the road. It was mostly two-leggers, but every now and then a fluffy squirrel-glider would jump from tree to tree. Swallows fluttered in tiny flocks way up high beside the clouds.

"It's pretty round here, isn't it?" Daine asked Mammoth. "I never thought a big city place could be so fine. There's still animals here, an' all."

It's always good to see someplace new, replied the big dog, resting his head on Daine's knee. Even if it smells too much of stinky two-leggers.

Daine laughed. At that moment, a human face peered around the edge of the bush, a boy about her own age. He couldn't have been older than seven. His mousy, dirty-blond hair hung limply over his bright blue eyes and freckly nose. When he smiled, Daine saw that a few of his baby's teeth were missing. She'd lost her first one just days ago.

"I was thinking I heard someone back here," he said cheerfully. "That's a right big dog there!"

"This is Mammoth," said Daine, smiling. "He's our boss dog. He's older'n I am."

"Wow. He's prob'ly taller'n you, too, isn't he?"

"No! I'm not that tiny," protested Daine, but the boy was grinning. He sat cross-legged just like her in front of Mammoth.

"Hi there, Mammoth," the boy said.

Mammoth sniffed the boy's offered fingers. He smells nice, said Mammoth.

"Mammoth says you smell nice," said Daine to the boy.

"Well, 'course I do. My ma made me bathe this morning."

Daine laughed again, just as a voice rang out from the path. It was a woman's voice, but it wasn't her ma; it was someone she didn't recognize.

"Eli?" it called loudly and sternly. "Elias, come here, right quick, we need to go home before it's dark!"

"Horse manure," muttered the boy, leaping to his foot and looking nervous. He brushed his hair quickly out of his eyes. "That's me ma. I'd better - "

But before he could finish talking, the mystery woman was right beside him and looked like she was about to grab him by his collar when she noticed Daine and Mammoth. "Who's this? Are you alone? What's your name?" she said sternly.

"Don't sound so mean, ma," protested the boy, Eli. Though short and scrawny, he stood straight and spoke boldly. "She's nice. Her dog's named Mammoth."

"That's nice'n all, but still, you shouldn't be all on your own at so young," said the woman, though her tone was a bit kinder now. "What's your name?"

"Daine Sarrasri, ma'm," Daine said without thinking.

At once, the woman's eyes hardened. Mammoth stood up and began to growl. This time, the woman did grab Eli's collar and yank him away, ignoring his loud protests. "Find your ma and go home," she hissed to Daine.

As they left, Daine heard Eli crying, "Ma, why'd you do that?"

"Stay away from people like her, Eli. She's no good. Her ma was loose and now she has to pay the price."

Ten minutes later, Sarra returned with two bottles in her hand. Daine stared down the road behind her where Eli and his mother had gone. There was a odd, tight feeling in her heart, and it made her shoulders droop; Mammoth nudged her hip sympathetically. Daine turned away after a long, long moment, wondering why she suddenly felt as cold and sad inside as a ma of an empty bird's nest.


	2. II: Arram Draper, Numair Salmalin

**A/N:** And here is the two-part piece on our favorite mage. Cameo appearance from Ozorne; a little bit dark, so be warned. Enjoy and please review :)

AND PLEASE: Feel free to send me suggestions of other characters you'd like me to write about, as long as "name" is a part of the prompt! If you have any vague ideas, or characters you'd like to see me write... PLEASE let me know! Thanks! :) If I get good prompts, this will be a multi-chapter fic. If not, it works well as two parts, too.

(The fact that Numair's magic was once gold was said by TP once and brought to my attention by a reviewer of my other story, _Your Star._ The idea intrigued me so, that's where this came from.)

* * *

"Arram Draper," hissed Ozorne, his teeth glinting in the darkness. "Top of every class, the favorite of every teacher, the best at every assignment. It's such a pity that you will never fulfill your full potential, isn't it? You will never be the savior of your country, the hero that everyone envisioned. Carthak's brilliant young mage."

Ozorne stepped closer, green sparkles at his fingertips.

"No. You will vanish, Arram. They'll wonder, for a while. And then they'll forget. I will be the star. I will be one everyone remembers, praises, obeys. But don't worry. I won't let it happen quickly. You may die slowly… so that you may enjoy each second of being the most powerful mage in the land. Of course… if you were the most powerful, you wouldn't be here, would you? You would be able to free yourself with barely a breath."

Arram breathed carefully; his beaten ribs ached too much to gasp. His arms ached, too; his wrists were shackled to the wall, spread-eagled above his head. His feet dangled mere inches off the ground. Facing the floor, all he saw were specks of his own blood, all he felt was pain and fury.

With every last reserve of his strength, Arram fisted his hands and threw out a blast of black-gold power. It forced Ozorne to stumble backwards a few paces, but it did nothing to the magically-reinforced silver shackles around Arram's wrists. Rather than falling apart, they simply burned white-hot, and Arram had to bite his lip until it bled to stop himself from screaming.

"Well done," said Ozorne softly. "Well done, Arram! Could it possibly be? You are too weak to escape my prison – so who is the more powerful mage, then? Tell me, Arram! Who is the greater mage?!"

Arram was silent. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing, nothing, determined not to give in.

"_I am!_" yelled Ozorne, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "I am more powerful! You are nothing, Arram, nothing to me! Your name will vanish into the void of time, but I - I will be remembered. More than any emperor mage before me - _I will have the power!_"

He stormed away, leaving Arram alone, exhausted, defeated. He didn't have the energy to open his eyes, much less raise his head or cast another spell. All he could do was live, breathe, each second cursing Ozorne and his madness.

* * *

Months later, Arram stretched out in a deserted shack in the slums of Tortall, using his stolen plush juggling balls as a makeshift pillow. The air was bitterly cold, but the most he dared do was light a tiny fire at his fingertips; he couldn't be so careless as to warm the whole room. Staring at the tiny, black, dancing flames, Arram realized that his magic was barely distinguishable from the dark around him. No veins of gold threaded through his Gift any more.

"Numair Salmalín," he murmured. "Numair – Numair Salmalín. My name is Numair Salmalín."

The flames glimmered weakly in response, a few tiny white sparkles catching his eye. But they were gone too fast for him to know if they were really there.

"Numair Salmalín," he said again, a little bit louder now. "I am Numair Salmalín."

Once his fire had warmed him as much as it could, he ended the spell and turned on to his side to try and sleep. Tomorrow, he would be able to try – for the very first time – the new sleight-of-hand trick he had taught himself. The addition of magic-free tricks to his juggling act would surely earn him a few more coppers; maybe even a gold piece from someone feeling particularly kind.

Sighing, Numair shivered and concentrated on falling asleep, ready to forget everything during the few short, sleepy hours before morning came.


	3. III: Daine Salmalin

**A/N: **Whoo, finally another update! It's been ages since I've written Daine and Numair. I miss them. I need to reread the books... Anyway, I hope I haven't lost my touch with them. They're still one of my favorite pairings of all time; I've just been at a loss for ideas. The first part of this fic is a very cliche and overdone scene, but I wanted to write it anyway. I hope I didn't make Daine seem too weak or anything, but I for one would be scared as hell in her situation.

Anyway, here it is, and I have plans to do Rikash and Sarralyn next, since their names are also significant. As always, reviews are still very much appreciated, especially after so long. Requests too - feel free to ask for a fic about any Tortall character, as long as the theme of "name" makes sense! Enjoy!

* * *

Despite the fresh fire blazing in their hearth, Daine couldn't suppress a terrified shiver. Numair had his back to her, straightening their bedclothes and stretching his long body. Dawn just barely breaking, a cool sunny morning glimmering tantalizingly through their windows. _A perfect day for a battle,_ she thought inadvertently, bitterly. War always inspired such thoughts. Daine wrapped her arms around herself, remaining frozen until Numair turned around and caught sight of her.

"Daine, what's the matter?" he said at once, as aware as ever. He rushed to her side, tilted her chin, studied the pallor of her cheeks. "Are you well?"

"I – I'm fine," Daine managed, but it was a pitiful attempt at reassurance.

"Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith, you're as white as a sheet," said Numair worriedly. "What's wrong?"

Without meaning to, Daine fingered the chain around her neck, imagining that she could hear battle raging just outside the window, even though – at the moment – all was peaceful. She imagined that she could hear dying soldiers, shrieking animals, crying children. With each second that passed, the imaginary noise grew louder and louder inside her head, until the din was so deafening that she gasped and grabbed Numair's arm to support herself. He held her tight as she swayed, his voice almost panicky.

"Daine, _what's the matter?_"

"I'm scared," she said breathlessly. "Oh, gods, Numair, I'm terrified, I – I - "

Hands trembling slightly, Daine pulled the chain out from under her tunic. She let the single charm fall into Numair's hand, the pale of the badger claw stark against his dark palm. Neither of them spoke for a moment. A small frown furrowed Numair's brow; he didn't seem to understand. And then, after an agonizing pause, comprehension dawned upon him, his face lit up with a mixture of worry and wonder.

"The charm," he breathed. "It's gone. How…?"

"I don't know. I don't know what happened. But I've been sick, Numair, and my clothes don't fit, and I went to a healer this morning," she said, closing her eyes tight. "Numair, I'm so scared, what am I going to do?"

"You – you mean it?" he asked, sounding amazed. "You're going to have a baby?"

She nodded mutely.

"Oh, Daine, this is wonderful!" Numair let out a whoop of laughter and lifted her right off her feet, spinning her through the air before kissing her firmly on the lips. "Why are you scared, sweeting? A baby! This is wonderful!"

His face was so alight, so full of joy, that Daine could only stare for a few moments, completely bewildered. But in the face of such true delight, half her fears seemed to vanish on the spot. Yet the half that remained reared profoundly in her mind. "We're in the middle of a war. Tortall needs me. I can't have a baby now, I have to fight! And I thought… I thought you would be angry with me, for losing the charm, I was careless - "

"Angry with you?" he repeated incredulously. "Daine, this is the best news I've ever heard – I would never be angry! Please, love, smile for me – I can't bear to see you so distressed. We'll have a family. A child. By the time he's born, the war will be over – you know it's winding down. Don't worry yourself so."

At last, Daine smiled weakly. One of Numair's hands rested against her stomach. There was no movement to feel there yet, only a small, telltale bump, but still his palm lingered, awe and fascination bright in his eyes. Daine looked down, too, her heart warming a little at his touch.

"I can't help but worry," she said sadly. "It's not that I don't want to have children… but it was so unexpected, so sudden… what if I'm not ready? What if I can't do this?" She shivered again, but Numair shook his head at once and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"You will be the finest mother in all of Tortall," he said. "And you will be my wife. Before the baby is born, we'll get married. You'll be my wife, the mother of my child, my love, my magelet. Please, Daine, smile for me again, and tell me that you agree?"

Her heart had become so warm and full by now that she didn't quite trust herself to speak. But nevertheless, she smiled at him, and was rewarded by his immediate kiss. The room was silent save for their breathing and their heartbeats, matched as one.

* * *

Two weeks after their wedding, and one week after Sarralyn had been born, Daine lay in  
Numair's bed again for the first time in months, though to each of them it felt like a lifetime. Little Sarralyn Salmalin was, for once, sleeping soundly, her snuffling breaths carrying through their still room.

Still weak from the birth, and the constant trauma that followed until the naming, Daine could do no more than curl against Numair's warm, powerful body. He understood; he wrapped his arms around her and held her even closer to him, the scent of his skin – mingled sweat and soap and spice – tickling her nose, so delightfully familiar. She rubbed her face against his shoulder.

"Ah, Daine," he breathed. "You musn't do that to me."

"Sorry."

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. "It is too good to have you in my arms again. Did you notice something different about these rooms when you arrived?"

"Mhm. The engraving on the door."

"What does it say? I've forgotten."

"You dolt," whispered Daine. But she obliged him, resting her chin on his shoulder so she could meet his eyes. "It says Numair Salmalin, and under that, Veralidaine Salmalin."

Now Numair drew his fingers slowly and smoothly through her wild hair, somehow avoiding all the tangles. He smiled sleepily. "Veralidaine Salmalin," he repeated. "_Daine_ Salmalin. It has a wonderful ring to it, doesn't it?"

"It does," said Daine. Closing her eyes, she spoke softly, for never in her life did she think she could ever say such words. "I'm glad I married you."

"So am I, sweeting," said Numair. "So am I."


	4. IV: Rikash Salmalin

**A/N:** So when I first started this fic, I got like 10 reviews in just a couple days, then a few months later I update and get one review on the chapter... One! Come on, FF people, what's happening? ;_; I already ranted about this in the A/N to another fic, _Spoken Without Words_, but it looks like I might have to again... Just cause I know people are reading - authors can see traffic - but yet no reviews... It really blows.

ANYWAY all that aside, I still hope you enjoy this chapter! Sarralyn up next. Then I might switch to some non Daine/Numair stuff - I've gotten suggestions for Alanna's names/titles and the name of her children. Anything else?

* * *

"Ma, why am I called Rikash?"

Daine started, interrupted from her sewing by her son's innocent curiosity. She had been on a good streak with her needle, too; sewing leather for saddlebags and reins was difficult work. But far more worrisome was the clarity of her son's question. For a second, she frowned, wishing Numair were here to support her.

"Mama?"

"Ah. Sorry, Rikash," Daine said, placing the half-finished saddlebags delicately on the warm grass beside her. "You asked about your name, right?"

"Mhm." Rikash, his wild dark hair flopping into his eyes, crawled onto her lap and looked up expectantly. At his age, mothers had all the answers.

Meeting his wide eyes, Daine knew she could not avoid the subject. He was bound to ask sometime, just as Sarra had, and Daine had been so happy to have a beautiful story to tell her, her lovely little Sarralyn. And now her lovely little Rikash was just as curious – but would a six-year-old understand the strange difference in good and evil that was his namesake? She was not ashamed of her old Stormwing friend, nor did she regret giving his name to her son, but Daine wondered how a boy so young would react to such news. Even at six, Rikash knew of all the stigmas attached to certain immortals.

"Well, me and your father… we once had a great friend named Rikash," she began. "During the war, Rikash saved our lives many times over. But he died fighting on our side. So… I wanted to honor his memory, and I'm sure if he knew you today he'd be very proud. You're growing up so big and strong!"

"Just like he was?" queried Rikash. "Was he a knight? Da says I'll be a great mage, not a knight, but I wanna be a knight. I still can't use magic yet, so why does he say mage? Or was the old Rikash a mage too?"

Daine couldn't resist a little smile at her son's rather jumpy train of thought. "He wasn't a mage or a knight, actually. But you can be whatever you want to be."

"So what was he then?"

A teasing afternoon breeze ruffled Rikash's hair, and for a short moment, his eyes were clearly visible, as dark and warm as his father's, but also filled with the youthful innocence that both Daine and Numair had lost long ago. In that moment, Daine made up her mind.

"He was a Stormwing," she said calmly, touching her son's cheek. "A honorable Stormwing, who died to save me, and he was charming, brave, and honest, as well."

For a second, little Rikash didn't reply, only stared with his mouth open wide. Daine could see three endearing gaps where his baby teeth were missing. "But I thought… I thought Stormwings was _bad_ immortals," Rikash said, his little brow furrowed.

"Many of them are bad," agreed Daine. "But you know how Sarra says that only some of certain animals, like snakes and rats and vultures, will talk to her? Because some are nice and some are mean?"

Rikash nodded, a perfectly attentive student to her lesson.

"Well, immortals are the same way. They're not all bad or all good. There are good and bad Stormwings, and good and bad animals, just like there are good and bad people, too. Does that make sense?"

"I s'pose so," Rikash said slowly. "Well, as long as he was a good Stormwing. I'll still be a knight, though, 'cause I can't grow wings like Sarra can." Rikash smiled, shrugged, and leapt off Daine's lap. He raced barefoot across the plain and towards the palace. "Bye, Ma!"

"Rikash, where are you going?" Daine called after him.

"Aunt Alanna promised me she'd let me practice with a training sword today! But then I hafta practice _magic_ with Da. But it's okay. Bye, Ma!"

As she watched her son dash away, stumbling a bit in his haste, Daine touched a light hand to her chest, for her heart was so warm and full that she almost thought she could feel it bursting through her skin. She needn't have worried at all. A child's trust, a child's purity, were the finest things in the world, and Daine hoped vainly that it would be a long, long time before her baby, her little Rikash, lost those qualities.


	5. V: Sarralyn Salmalin

**A/N:** Again, please remember to review, and thanks to all that have! Also feel free to leave requests. Enjoy Sarralyn's chapter.

* * *

Every evening on the night of Beltane, Sarra slipped away from the festivities to a secluded corner of prairie, right on the edge of the thick woods that bordered Tortall's palace. She just wanted to be alone with the stars. Her grandmother was up there, she knew. The Sarralyn that she had been named after, a goddess, a real _goddess_. The thought always amazed her.

But her father _always_ noticed her leaving. Numair whispered in Daine's ear and then, a few dawdling minutes later, stole away from the party as well, just him, and joined Sarra in her solitude. The first two years he had done so, when she was just a girl, Sarra had put on a great show of her most severe annoyance at him, but by now it had become a veritable routine of their holiday.

"Hi, Da," said Sarra as he approached. She didn't even have to turn to know that he was approaching.

"You continue to surprise me, Sarra. I was so quiet this time!"

"I was cheating," admitted Sarra, turning her head to display the cat's ears twitching sensitively under her hair. "But you're still as loud as an ox. Or Uncle George, when he's had too much to drink."

"Duly noted," commented Numair with a smile and a nod of deference to her wit.

Sarra laughed, yawned, and pointed up at the stars. "So. Tell me the story. The Green Lady and the God of the Hunt."

"It's really your mother's story to tell," Numair said, as he always did.

"But I want _you_ to tell it."

"Very well, then. Well… when I met your mother, your grandmother had already died. She was a mortal woman like any other, at first – though an extraordinary one, of course, to raise a girl such as Daine all on her own. For Daine's father was none other than Weiryn, God of the Hunt – and he did not spend much time away from the Divine Realms, if truth be told."

In the comfort of pattern, Sarra rested her head against her father's arm, her gaze flicking from the shining stars to his warm face as he spoke. Strands of his hair fell across his face, both black and silver in equal measure, almost like the sky itself.

"But when Sarra died, Weiyrn made a bargain with the Black God. Sarra was to be made a goddess, but in exchange, Sarra and Weiryn were to be confined to Weiryn's grounds in the Divine Realms for a century. The terms were fair, and it was done."

"Tell me what happened when you and Ma went to the Divine Realms," Sarra said, as she always did.

"Well, that was when I met your grandmother. She liked me - much more than your grandfather did, at least. I _still_ don't know if he's warmed up to me. But Sarra… you are just like her, little one. You share the same warmth and kindness and sympathy for the world, just like your mother does, too."

Smiling as she listened, Sarra glowed with pride inside, just as she did every year. This ritual never changed in the slightest, but even as she grew older, she never grew tired of the tale.

"You've met Sarra before, too," said Numair. Sarra nodded; she knew this, and Numair knew that she knew this, but she liked to hear, and he liked to tell. "On your naming day. She managed to visit, and she sat down with you and told you quite sternly to pick a shape and stick with it. All of us – even you, barely a week old – got the impression that she was not one to argue with. You should be very proud to be called Sarralyn."

"And I'm proud to be called Salmalin, too," she said.

"Yes. Sarralyn Salmalin," said Numair affectionately, ruffling her already windswept hair.

Together they spent the rest of the evening studying the bright Beltane stars. Sarra's weary eyelids dropped after just a few minutes. She let her father's arm support her as they walked sleepily back into the palace, the night's activities finally drawing to a close. Numair tucked Sarra into her bed as if she were a little child again and kissed her on the forehead, just as he always did. She had just enough time to mumble "Goodnight, Da," before her eyes fluttered shut and she dreamed of her grandmother.


	6. VI: Alanna, Alan of Trebond

The back of her neck felt oddly cool, kissed by the brisk morning air. As Maude bustled around in the final, hurried preparations for their departure, Alanna glanced at herself in the mirror a final time. A violet-eyed boy, looking like Thom but with deliberate mistakes, glanced back at her. She put her hand in the pocket of her breeches. The boy did also.

_That's Alan,_ she thought joyfully to herself. _That's Alan, and I better get to know him real well, real soon._

She heard the anxious whinny of one of their horses, and knew they had to get ready to go. Throwing the hood over her head, Alanna turned away from the stranger's reflection, quite ready to leave Trebond and all that came with it – magic lessons, silly rules, frilly dresses – very much behind her.

But before she had taken more than few scant steps, her boot brushed against a long lock of her hair, shiny like woven gold, if gold were red like the sunrise. Quickly, so Maude wouldn't see, Alanna lifted it up and slipped it in her pocket; she didn't quite know why.

"On we go, Thom," Coram muttered sleepily as they departed Trebond. Alanna took one final look behind her, then at her brother, a small smile stealing onto her hooded face.

"I'm not Thom," she murmured triumphantly so only she could hear. "I'm _Alan_."


	7. VII: Alianne of Pirate's Swoop

**A/N: **This is the last one I might have in this series, for a while... unless someone provides a prompt? Theme is "Name," of course. This one's like the previous chapter - short and mainly dialogue. Cause I like that best. ^^

* * *

"How come I'm not named after someone?" Aly pouted one day to her father. "Did you two not even care when you were naming me? I mean, Alan's named after Ma, basically! And Thom too - "

"Oh, don't worry yourself about that," George said, laughing. "Truth be told, we put more effort into namin' you than either of the boys. But don't tell them that."

"But their names are special. Mine isn't."

"Let's put it this way," said George. "Your ma told me that from the second you came out of the womb, she knew you were gonna be a person like none she'd ever known – so you should have a name that she'd never known, too. Fair?"

"No, it's not fair! You're just making that up! I can tell, 'cause _you_ taught me how to catch liars!"

George cursed, making Aly giggle and smile at his bawdiness. "Well, I'll tell you the truth then," he continued. "She said that the second you came out of the womb, she knew you were gonna be so much trouble that she _couldn't_ name you after anyone, 'cause their ghost would be after her for as long as she lived."

"_Da!_"


	8. VIII: Pounce, Faithful

**A/N:** An overlooked character, but I feel his name - and how it changes - is significant nonetheless. And I love cats. Please review, and leave prompts if you have an idea!

* * *

His pawsteps are light as he pads through the Divine Realms; his tail swishes softly from side to side; his violet eyes gleam like stars as he stares through the night. With a powerful bound, he leaps from springy grass to a smooth boulder that overlooked a glistening black pond. He is alone here, save for the presence of the other gods that seems to permeate the entirety of the Divine Realms.

He settles himself down on the rock. The stone is cool against his belly, and he relishes the feeling, but even that comfort is not enough to drive away the worries in his mind. As he stares into the black pool below, he sees certain images appearing through the darkness as shades of grey so clear that his heart aches to watch them.

So many humans, so many people, flash before his eyes. Each once had a spark of that special something, that fire, that vibrant hope, which had attracted him to their side. He smiles as he watches a girl with a long braid of hair spin and twist with her weapon of choice held firm in her hand. He recalls the time when she plucked him up by the tail and threw him out of her room because he had accidentally clawed up her Puppy uniform. She'd had to sow all night to fix it up again. To make it up to her, he'd tried the next day to make a fun game out of pouncing on her toes, but she hadn't seemed to enjoy it even when he tried to explain. That was when she started calling him Pounce, he remembers.

He remembers the pain in her gaze when she said _"Goodbye, Pounce." _

The next person he sees is another girl, but it would have been a bit hard to tell if he hadn't known her so well. Her hair was cropped short around her ears, and she wore boy's clothes and a boy's sword. But as she grew older, her femininity grew more pronounced, and eventually she could no longer hide; yet throughout it all, he remembers being there, beside her. Faithful, she called him. She would rub his ears affectionately and whisper _"Thank you, Faithful."_

When she said goodbye, she also whispered. She whispered his name, and he has not returned to the Realms of the Living since that fateful word. _Faithful._

Soon the images in the black pool disappear and he sees only his own reflection. Two violet eyes stare back at him full of hopelessness and regret.

Is he truly faithful, he wonders? Is he truly a friend, a companion, to the friends he has loved and lost through the millennia? Faithful. No one had ever called him that before her. _Faithful._ How can he be faithful, when he always leaves, lingering in nothing but eternity of solitude and memory?

He stretches, swishes his tail, and bounds off the rock, padding softly through the night, away from the black pool of his past.


	9. IX: Sarge, Musenda Ogunsawo

**A/N:** Oh yeah, this story! Rereading all TP's books definitely gave me more ideas.

At first I wrote this assuming my own headcanon - that Sarge, being a slave, never knew his name, and took pride in being called "Sarge" in Tortall. Then I realized TP actually DID give him a name. Oops. But it still sorta works. I hope you enjoy! A few more of these to come, featuring Alanna's sons.

* * *

"Sarge," she murmured thoughtfully one evening. "It's really just short for sergeant, isn't it, what everyone calls you? Is that your real name? I don't why I've never asked before."

"As much as any name can be," the big man said. Onua looked at him, confused. "But no, it is not the name my parents gave me, if that's what you meant. That name is Musenda Ogunsawo."

On their way through the silent grounds, heading from the stables to the Rider barracks, Onua figured there was no one there to notice them. She grabbed his large hand and squeezed it. "That's a mouthful. Does it mean something?"

"'Nightmare.'" He grinned as Onua laughed – it was so fitting. "But I like to stick with 'Sarge.' I'm proud of my work."

They had reached the place where they ought to part, though sometimes, they spent the night together in Onua's room. If anyone ever noticed, they didn't comment. Standing on her tiptoes so she could kiss his cheek goodnight, Onua said, "It's a good name. 'Night, Sarge."

He pulled her into his arms so he could give her a proper kiss goodnight. Onua smiled against his lips. She had never been more glad that she had refused to let her past haunt her. She liked the feel of these strong arms around her.


	10. X: Thom of Pirate's Swoop

**A/N:** If _I_ wondered why Alanna named her first son Thom, Thom has to wonder too. It'd be tough, being him, and knowing what his namesake did. I mean... Thom of Trebond did something REALLY bad, and never seemed to be blamed for it, though he himself felt the repercussions hard enough. Oh well.

* * *

The words on the page of the brand-new history book that his adoptive grandda, Sir Myles of Olau, had brought him as a going-away gift felt burned onto the inside of his eyelids, like something bright that he had stared at for too long. _Lord Thom of Trebond achieved Mastery status at age eighteen, the youngest man to do so to date. He was notorious for his immensely powerful Gift and social irreverence. He died shortly after becoming a Master, however, delving too deep into the dangerous art of necromancy. Though the Crown never accused him of being in league with Duke Roger of Conte and his plot to overthrow the rightful king, it was nevertheless Thom's forbidden magic that brought the duke back to life._

All his mother had told him about his namesake seemed a lie. Sure, she'd said he'd made a mistake, and sometimes she hated him for it. But he had always been her beloved brother, with a good heart deep down and a brilliant mind. Young Thom had taken pride from that, eager to study at the City of the Gods just like his namesake.

Now he dashed through the familiar halls of his home, one of his last nights before departing to study, and found his mother reading in her sitting room. At once she recognized he was upset. "Thom? What's wrong? Why are you so pale?"

"How come you never told me?" he whispered, trembling. "How come you never told me what he did?"

"Who?"

"Thom!" he roared, and his mother's eyes went wide with shock. "Thom, your brother, my namesake! He… he went evil… my book said so…"

And then, shamefully, he began to cry. He had always been the most sensitive of his siblings, the twins always giggly, careless troublemakers. He prided himself on being more mature than them, and so he always wanted to set an example. He stopped his habit of crying ages ago in order to seem older and stronger. His mother wrapped her arms around him and held him close, and angry as he was, he was grateful for the comfort.

"All you ever told me was that he made some bad choices," Thom managed. "You didn't say they were _that_ bad. He – he - "

"Shh, dear, shh," murmured Alanna, rubbing his back like she used to when he was little. "You're right. I should have told you. You're old enough to understand now. My brother Thom… did something very bad. There's no denying that. But… I gave you his name because I still loved him. He was still my twin brother, my other half. You know how Alan and Alianna can sometimes read each others' minds? Know when they are hurt, even when they're apart? That was me and Thom. He was boy who teased me when I was little, who helped me to trade places with him so I could become a knight, the brilliant man who tested the boundaries of magic. He could have given your Uncle Numair a run for his money - not in terms of sheer power, perhaps, but in terms of knowledge.

"And you know what? Maybe you can be that strong and that smart someday, too. And you won't make the same mistakes my twin did. I want you to grow up to be the man Thom could never be. _You_ are the real Thom – no longer of Trebond, but still Thom all the same. Does that make sense?"

Blearily Thom nodded. He pulled away from his ma, and she kissed his forehead and wiped away his tears. "You're getting so big," she said wistfully. "All of eleven years, and off to become a sorcerer. You inherited my brother's power, but your father's good nature. You'll be fine."

"I'll be a Master, just like my uncle," Thom said stubbornly. "Except I'll be good. I promise."

"That's my Thom," Alanna said with a smile, giving him one final kiss. "Now, off to bed with you." Her briskness was only slightly forced. "You've a long day of travel tomorrow!"


	11. XI: Alan of Pirate's Swoop

**A/N:** Gotta love the Lioness's children. Enjoy little Alan!

* * *

"The last redheaded boy we had here with the name of Alan caused _quite_ a stir, young lad," said the new, eagle-eyed training master, Padraig haMinch.

Alan blushed as red as his hair, another gift from his famous ma. "I'm aware, sir."

The man let out a bellow of a laugh that one wouldn't have expected from his lithe and narrow build. "You have her spirit, boy. Embrace it."

The training master moved on, inspecting all the other pages. Alan loved his ma, to be sure, and he was proud to bear her nickname of so many years. _But I have my own spirit too,_ he thought determinedly. _You'll see._


	12. XII: Aly Homewood, Alianne Crow

**A/N:** Aly calls herself Aly Homewood when she is still hiding her true identity from everyone in TQ. This takes place after all that. Plus, it's an excuse to write something between Aly and Taybur. YES, Aly/Taybur.

* * *

"Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here again, Aly Homewood."

Aly smiled. She knew that voice all too well. And it was all too familiar here, too, in the Pavilion of Delightful Pleasures, where they had met during the war.

"Aren't you going to assure me you have no improper intentions toward me, good sir?" she said, fluttering her eyelashes, shy and suggestive all at once. Taybur let out a warm laugh, while Aly grinned wickedly. "You know that's not my name. Why do you still call me that?"

He offered her an arm, which she accepted with pleasure. Though she loved Nawat dearly, she couldn't resist the occasional flirtatious exercise with this man, and they both knew it. "I must admit, when you told me you were Alianne of Pirate's Swoop, I was surprised," he said, leading her through the garden trails. "_Alianne_. Such a pretty name."

"Alianne Crow, now," she reminded him, ever teasing.

"But of course. And I, being an honorable man, would _never_ entertain any improper intentions toward a married woman. Alianne Crow is well beyond my reach."

They were in the closeted lover's corner of the garden now, shielded from any prying eyes by helpful veils of vine and flower. Taybur leaned close to her, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her lips. With his eyes sparkling, he tweaked her nose and grinned.

"But Aly Homewood? I think I may win _her_ over yet."

Aly giggled. Taybur Sibigat was one of the many, many reasons she was glad she stayed in the Isles. Life was ever so much more interesting with people like him around.


	13. XIII: Dove, Queen Dovasary

Sometimes she missed the old days. The easy days, when she was simply Dove Balitang, and her sister Sarai was beside her for her to look up to. Her father, too, with his warm gaze and rare smile that meant he was truly pleased. Her proud mother, and Winnamine, too. When she was simply one of the family.

But now she was no longer "simply Dove." She was Queen Dovasary of the Copper Isles, and life would never be simple again, not with Haiming blood from the Temaida side and Rittevon blood from the Balitang side flowing through her veins.

Powerful nobles and old friends alike all bowed to her. Even Aly, even Winna, Fesgao, Chenaol; at court functions, her closest companions had to show their queen the proper respect, even if they were less formal in private. They still bowed.

Dove sighed. In her heart, sometimes, she was still just Dove. She liked being able to retreat into that part of herself if needed. But when she wore her crown, when she gazed over her people, raka and luarin alike, she embraced Queen Dovasary. _She_ had the power to change the world she loved, to help the people she ruled.

Dovasary would use that power to her best ability.


	14. XIV: Kitten, Skysong

Dry twigs and chunks of dirt crackled under her paws. Little thorns dug into the soft spots between her pads, and she kept having to stop and pull them out with her teeth. But there was no other way for her to travel. The tiny wings on her back were useless, and they would remain that way for another few centuries. Staring wistfully at the sky, Kitten crooned.

She wished someone could understand. How she wanted to grow up! To be able to talk, to fly! She was Skysong, wasn't she? A proud dragon, meant to be soaring the skies for centuries. Or was she just little Kit, Daine and Numair's beloved dragonet? She never wanted to grow old without them, but she knew it would happen someday. She would still be Kitten long after they were gone.

Whistling like Tkaa had taught her, Kitten made up a melody. Maybe no one could hear it. But she sang it to the sky that would be hers when all her other friends had left her behind.


End file.
